Forecast
Another rain prediction
while the alfalfa turns blue.
Hurricane moving toward Baja.
Fronts shifting.
I found more photos
showing what I missed.
But none of divorces
or the miscarriage
or the two bouts with lymphoma.
Just beautiful Marianna
with her smile owning
the light and everyone.
Albums arrayed as they were.
My worries now
from the future,
while I feel the tug
of an anchor’s rope.
Cardboard Box
I’m careful with the sides,
coming unglued,
and the warped shape,
water damaged and
no longer perfect.
It holds the twigs
that start my late fire
to which I add bigger wood
keeping the box well away
as flames absorb grief
venting into summer.
If only these feelings would
recycle back to those evenings
when we were teens in Tucson
smoking and talking
on the edge of change.
It was a time like this box,
in need of care.
And I left it out
in August rain.
Wet cardboard
never again smooth and virgin.
Shop Tree
A weather measure
comes from clouds
behind the big shop tree.
Where are they going?
Are they fast or heavy?
One has to stare
because today they are slow
and not going
yesterday’s way.
A soft mantras
calming and true.
Keep looking,
be patient,
and from distraction,
their new form
will carry you
into the future
the sweetness here now
the surprises
you’ll never guess.
Meteors
Would this meteor shower
make me cry?
Because it will be so beautiful
and really far away.
Finding some kleenex
in Marianna’s purse,
breathing in the closeness.
And remembering through decades
to a time, on my bicycle
riding home
after Marianna
and more than i deserved,
stunned by a celestial
streak that wouldn’t end.
Amazement light years away.
My bicycle noisy in desert dirt.
Elevating my heart
to an unfortunate level
I’d never forget.
